


Horizon's Verge

by Argyle



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-02-25
Updated: 2004-02-25
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: A swimming lesson.





	Horizon's Verge

“Hold still, Percy! You’re never going to be able to stay afloat if your head keeps bobbing underwater,” Byron chuckled in a teasingly stern tone.

“I’ll never hold still so long as your hands continue to waltz across my back,” Shelley replied with a grin, his face once more beginning to dip beneath the surface of the lake.

“Waltz?” Byron laughed shortly. “I think not.”

“Oh, indeed,” Shelley retorted, shifting in the water.

“Once again, lie still.”

Shelley nodded slightly, allowing his form to soothe against the lightness of Byron’s touch. He gazed above to the airy heights of the mountains, capped in snow, coupled with the startlingly green breadth of the surrounding forest. It was early-evening and the haze of the sun spilled toward the horizon, casting a lavender hue to the surroundings of Lake Geneva and gently glistening in the dusk of its depths. The cool waters stroked to the sides of Shelley’s face and he sighed, the muffled sounds of the waves and what was perhaps distant footfall collected within his ears. His view of the peaks was then blocked out as Byron bent his head over him, a smile playing across his lips. Shelley returned the smile, a shiver passing through him as Byron’s hand crossed the small of his back toward the sharp curve of his shoulder blades, his long fingers lingering there.

As the merging sensations of the cool waves against his bare skin and the agility of Byron’s hold soon proved to be too much, his frame shook with a violent movement and he flailed against the downward pull of the lake, his arms reaching wildly toward the fading sunlight. Shelley’s head again immersed under the waters, his shoulders unevenly falling backward, and as he opened his startled eyes he saw the looming refraction of Byron’s form above him. His vision cast in green, he watched Byron as he furrowed his brow, reaching against him, his hands twisting underwater until he was able to gain a firm grasp on Shelley’s shoulders. Shelley swallowed as he felt himself being pulled upward and placed the crook of his arm around Byron’s neck as his breath was finally met with air once more. He clung against Byron, the slightness of his frame trembling from the wind’s delicate trace.

“Shelley,” Byron began. His eyes were creased with concern, though he was unable to disguise the faint touch of amusement that crossed his lips. “Percy, please. My God, we’re not in but five and a half feet of water here.” He motioned toward the great expanse of the lake with a twist of his wrist and an arch of his brow.

Shelley stared into the starry depths of Byron’s gaze and swallowed roughly, a light blush streaking against his cheeks. “Damn you, Byron,” he breathed, placing a hand over his mouth to suppress a cough. “I should like to know how you talked me into this.”

“Ah, but the answer to that is far too effortless.” Byron softly took Shelley’s cheek in his hand and leaned forward, lightly brushing their lips together. “Wouldn’t you say, Percy?” He grinned.

“Nothing more than my morbid curiosity, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” Byron agreed, once more bridging the breath between them, his arm twining around Shelley’s thin form as they pressed together. Shelley reached forward, his fingers lightly tangling through the dark curls of Byron’s hair and finally settling at the nape of his neck. Byron’s hand traveled over the form of Shelley’s spine and gently down to the waistband of his breeches, lingering on the arc of his rear. Their tongues touched, a moment of perfect unison as the water swirled around them, and Shelley moaned softly against Byron’s mouth as they broke apart at last. A clever smile flashed across Byron’s lips as Shelley stepped back, his palm gliding across the water’s edge.

Swallowing, Shelley met Byron’s gaze again. “Shall we try once more? The light is fast escaping,” he said, shivering slightly.

Byron laughed quietly, setting his hand on Shelley’s shoulder. “Indeed?”

Shelley slowly bowed his head backwards into the water, arching his back against its surface and settling once more into a position atop Byron’s arms. His knees bent for a moment as he tried to regain his balance, his toes again peaking gently out as his legs again straightened. Breathing in deeply, he blinked back the drops that collected in his lashes. He felt Byron’s hand graze across his brow, gently setting aside the wet tresses that had scattered themselves there. “I fear it, Byron,” he breathed at last.

“What?”

“Being dragged down,” Shelley answered warily. Their eyes met for a long moment, their fading reflections dispersing within the hushed movement of the water.

“Nonsense, Percy,” Byron protested quietly, again laying his fingers against Shelley’s brow. “You needn’t trouble yourself with such things. I will have you swimming perfectly well by week’s end.”

“An admirable proposition, I assure you,” Shelley said quietly. “It is one that I wish I could place faith in, though I cannot.” He let his gaze grace across the sky above, the evening light finally giving way to the velvet hem of the stars that stretched toward the lake’s rim. Sighing, he then closed his eyes, the blotted sounds of the water caressing his ears once more. With each tender splash against his side there streamed a thousand colors through his thoughts, at once shaping and bending at the whim of every washed-out recollection. He felt Byron’s hands shift from beneath against the wet fabric of his breeches, then pull away slowly as he floated on his own.

“Chin up, shoulders back, Percy,” Byron’s voice clipped through the water. “Keep your chin forward there, yes.”

Again there was a quiet moment as Byron stood watch over Shelley who, noticing the current glide under his form, felt a hint of exaltation at this moderate success. He watched as Byron tilted his head toward the shore, scanning toward the villa and the skiff that was tied to the dock, and shivered at his own lack of motion and the mounting breath of the wind skimming across his bare chest. Shelley placed a grip upon Byron’s forearm and as he awkwardly gained his footing against the slick floor of the lake, he placed a swift kiss on Byron’s shoulder, indicating with a slight nod that it was time to retire inside. Byron smiled, reaching for Shelley’s hand under the water and giving it a light squeeze; they began walking toward the shore, the waves gently splashing about them and drops swiftly dotting across their backs. Shelley sighed with a smile at this, though he at once recognized Byron’s expression of displeasure as it momentarily crossed his features; Byron had lost a degree of his mobility, his limp returning, just as Shelley knew that he had in turn gained a degree of his own as his form balanced firmly upon the cool sands.

“Byron,” Shelley began, swiftly reaching down to the sand and grabbing up his shirt. He held it before him for a moment, his gaze on Byron as he shrugged on his own shirt, the water that clung to his shoulders dampening the cloth. “Thank you,” he said at last, his heart racing.

Nodding quietly, Byron leaned against the wooden planks of the dock and pulled on his boots. He waited as Shelley tugged on his shirt, tucking it gently toward the waist of his breeches, and held his boots under his arm. As they approached the steps of Byron’s villa, the two parted to ready themselves for the evening’s meal, smiling gently before the encroaching shadows. Shelley then walked onward, the chill of the evening reaching its talons through the damp locks of his hair. A glint of careful knowing at last bounded forth from his gaze, the image of infinite waters still catching against the inward weight of his breath.

 

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(Somber) Endnotes: On July 8, 1822, at the age of 29, Percy Shelley drowned in the Gulf of Spezia after his boat was swamped during a violent squall. He had never learned to swim.


End file.
